Chapter 47 Chapter Forty-Six

Structural engineers and marine scientists huddled into little knots, muttering to themselves as they frantically pulled slide rules back and forth.Every now and then someone walks away to check the readings on the computer and the printout.Admiral Sandek, fresh from the Bumberger, sat behind his desk, shaking his head with a mug of coffee. "There will never be a section in a textbook on salvage," he murmured. "Blowing a wreck off the bottom of the sea with dynamite. Gosh, that's insane." "Is there anything else we can do?" Pete said. "If we can get the Titanic out of the muck, the Depths will follow."

"That's a crazy idea," murmured Gunn. "The shock wave just widens the crack in the sub's hull, causing an immediate implosion." "Maybe, maybe not," Pete said, "but even if that happened, it would be far better to have Merck, Keir, and Chavez die instantly under the pressure of the sea water than to die slowly and painfully from suffocation." "And what about the Titanic?" Gunn insisted. "We're going to blow up everything we've done for months on the deep ocean floor." "It should be considered a possible danger," said Pete, "but the Titanic was constructed much stronger than most ships currently at sea. Its beams, girders, bulkheads and decks are still as Just as strong as when it sank. The old crone can stand what we do with it. Can't be wrong about that."

"Do you really think this is going to work?" Sandek asked. "I really think so." "I can order you not to. You know that." "I know," Pete replied. "I'm counting on you to keep me in this game till the end." Sandek rubbed his eyes with his hands, then shook his head slowly, as if trying to wake up.Finally he said, "Well, Dirk, it's all up to you." Pete nodded and turned to walk away. There were five hours and ten minutes left. Two and a half miles down in water, remote and harsh, the three men on board the Depths were cold and alone, watching the sea rise inch by inch along the bulkheads until it flooded the main electrical circuits, shorted the instruments and turned the interior of the cabin It was dark.Then, as the water swirled around their thighs, they began to really feel the pinpricks of thirty-four degrees Fahrenheit.They believed that they must die, and stood in the water trembling in pain, but they still had a little hope of living in their hearts.

"When I get to the surface," Keel muttered, "I'll take the day off, and who knows, I don't care." "So you're coming back?" Travez said in the dark. "If they want to fire me, I'll fire it. Anyway, I'm going to sleep in tomorrow." Travez groped, found Keir's arm and grabbed it hard: "What are you talking about?" "Take it easy," Merck said. "The life support system is off, and the buildup of carbon dioxide is affecting him. I'm starting to feel a little dizzy, too." "The dirty air is worse than anything else," muttered Chavez. "If we don't drown, we'll be crushed when the hull bursts. Not crushed like eggshells, but suffocated. Ours The future doesn't look good."

"You haven't said we died in the sun," said Merk sarcastically. "If we don't leave the cold water and climb up, we have no chance of encountering the other three ways to die." Kiel didn't say anything, just let Travez push him feebly onto the top bunk.Then Travez climbed up too and sat on the edge with his feet dangling on one side. Merck waded through the thigh-deep sea water, walked to the front and looked out of the lookout.In the blinding lights, only the silhouette of Syfy II, surrounded by a halo, could be seen.Even ten feet away the ship could do nothing to the doomed Deyths, for the relentless, hostile pressure of the depths surrounded them.Merck thought to himself that as long as the boat was still around, they hadn't written us off yet.They were not alone, and that fact gave him no small comfort.This consolation was of little use, but it was the only thing they had.

Aboard the supply ship Alhambra, camera crews from the three major television networks feverishly put their machines to work in the face of mounting expectations.The starboard railing was packed with news agency reporters, fascinated by binoculars watching the Caprican two miles away, while photographers pointed their binoculars at the sea between the two ships.Dana Seagram, huddled in a corner of the makeshift press room, storm jacket tightly wrapped around her shoulders, stood briskly in front of a dozen reporters with tape recorders who were putting their microphones close together. Her face looked like lollipops.

"Mrs. Seagram, is it true that the plan to lift the Titanic two days earlier was actually a last-ditch attempt to rescue those trapped at the bottom of the sea?" "It's just one of the solutions," Dana replied. "Are we supposed to take it this way: Everything else has failed?" "There were all sorts of complications," Dana admitted. Dana's hands were tucked into his jacket pockets, rubbing the handkerchief nervously until his fingers ached.Months of questioning and answering with reporters, male and female, were beginning to tire her. "Since we have lost contact with the Deep Sea Exploration, how can you know for sure whether those crew members are still alive?"

"The computer data assures us that no critical situation will arise within the next four hours and forty minutes." "If the electrolyte chemicals haven't been fully injected into the mud surrounding the Titanic's hull, how does the Ocean Service plan to salvage it?" "I can't answer that," said Dana. "Mr. Pete's latest telegram from the Capricorn only said they were going to pick up the wreck within a few hours. He didn't give details of the method." "What if it's too late? What if Kiel, Chavez, and Merck are dead?"

Dana's expression became severe, "They're not dead." Her eyes sparkled: "Before this thing is confirmed, whoever first reports such a cruel and inhumane rumor should kick his ass Get off the boat, and to hell with all the papers and Nelson's popular show. Understand?" The reporters stood dumbfounded for a moment, startled by Dana's sudden outburst, then silently began to slowly put down the microphone and walk away towards the deck outside. Rick Spencer spread a large sheet of paper on the chart table and pressed it down with some half-empty coffee cups.Here's an aerial view of the Titanic and its position on the ocean floor.He began to point with the point of his pencil to the various places on the hull where the little crosses were marked.

"That's the shape of it," he explained. "We placed eighty explosives, each containing thirty pounds of explosives, at strategic locations along the seabed deposits along the Titanic's hull, based on computer data." Sandek leaned over the picture and looked carefully at the small crosses: "I see, you placed the explosives in three staggered rows on each side." "Yes, sir," said Spencer, "the outer rows are sixty yards from the hull plating, the middle rows are forty yards apart, and the inner rows are only twenty yards apart. We will detonate the starboard outermost row first. , after eight seconds, light the outer row on the port side. After another eight seconds, use the same method to deal with the middle row, and so on.”

"Kind of like pushing a car stuck in mud back and forth," Giordino interjected automatically. Spencer nodded. "It's an apt metaphor, so to speak." "Why not blast it out of the muck all at once?" Giordino asked. "A sudden jolt might work, but geologists advocate fractional and partially overlapping shock waves. We want vibrations." "Do we have any of these explosives?" Pete asked. "There's nearly a ton on the Bumberg for seismic research," Spencer replied. "There's four hundred pounds in store on the Murdoc ready to be salvaged and exploded." "Will this method work?" "Something in between," admitted Spencer. "Another three hundred pounds would be a better guarantee of our success." "We could jet it in from the mainland and drop it by air," Sandek suggested. Pete shook his head: "By the time the explosives arrived, loaded into the submarine, and then placed on the seabed, it was already two hours late." "Then we have to use these explosives." Sandek said roughly. "The time limit is very tight." He turned to Gunth: "How long will it take to put the explosives?" "Four hours," replied Gunth without hesitation. Sandek narrowed his eyes: "This way there is very little time left, only fourteen minutes left." "We can do it," Gunn said, "but on one condition." "What conditions?" Sandek blurted out impatiently. "Utilize every submarine we have available." "That means Sapphire II will also leave its place next to the Deep Sounder," Pete said. "Those poor bastards on the bottom of the ocean will think we've abandoned them." "There's no other way," said Gunn resignedly. "There's literally no other way." Merck has completely lost track of time.He stared at the luminous dial, but his eyes could not focus on the illuminated numbers.How long had it been since the crane fell on the pontoon? He didn't know if it was five hours, ten hours, or what happened yesterday?His mind was dull and confused.He could only sit there motionless, breathing shallowly and slowly, each breath seemed to take a lifetime.Gradually he realized that he had to move.He reached out and touched Kiel and Chavez in the dark, but they didn't make a sound or respond, they had already entered a coma. Then he realized again, as if something wasn't where it should be.His mind was as messy as if soaked in molasses.But he finally felt it.In the flooded cabin there was no movement, no sign of motion, save the inexorable rise of the sea.It turned out that only the angle of the beam of Sapphire II's beam coming in from the lookout ahead had dimmed. He left his bunk and jumped into the water--the water was chest-high now--almost as if in a nightmare, and struggled up to the upper porthole to look out at the bottom of the sea. A feeling of dread he had never felt suddenly surrounded his numb senses.He stared wide-eyed, and clenched his hands helplessly and desperately. "Oh my God!" he cried, "they're leaving us. They're deserting us." Sandek moved the big cigar he had just lit, and continued to pace up and down the deck at night.The radio operator held up a hand, and the admiral turned and came behind him. "Sef One reports, sir," said Curley, "they've laid the charges." "Tell it to come up to the surface as quickly as possible. The higher it goes when the explosives go off, the less pressure on the hull." The admiral turned to Pete, who was watching four television monitors, monitoring The cameras and floodlights of the detector are installed at key positions around the Titanic's superstructure, "how does it look like?" "So far so good," Pete replied, "If the wet steel pressurized seal holds the shock wave, we still have a chance. Sandek stared at the colorful image, frowning as he saw the large stream of air bubbles rising from the hull of the cruise ship. "There was a lot of air leaking out of the boat," he said. "The residual pressure came out from the air release valve." Pete said flatly, "We turned off the electrolyte pump, started the air compressor, and poured as much air as possible into the upper watertight compartment." He paused and adjusted The image, went on to say: "The Capricorn's air compressor puts out ten thousand cubic feet of air per hour, so it doesn't take long to increase the pressure in the hull by another ten pounds per square inch, just enough to break through the bleed valve. " Drummer walked slowly from the computer and made a series of check marks on the tablet. "We estimate that ninety percent of the watertight compartments in the ship are not flooded," he said. "In my opinion, the main problem is that we are more buoyant than the computer calculates necessary. Once the suction fails, the ship It will float like a kite." "The Nudibranch has just dropped its last charge," Curley reported. "Let it go to the Depths before it comes to the surface," Pete said, "and see if we can make visual contact with Merck and his crew." "Eleven minutes left," Giordino announced. "Why on earth didn't Sapphire Two come up?" Sandek wasn't asking anyone in particular. Pete looked across the room at Spencer. "Ready to explode?" Spencer nodded. "Each row is tuned to a different firing frequency. We just turn the dial and the explosives go off in sequence." "Dare you say what we saw first, the prow or the stern?" "There's nothing to argue about. The bow is buried in the mud twenty feet deeper than the rudder. I believe the stern will break free first and then use the leverage of buoyancy to pull the rest up. The angle of sinking is pretty much the same, as long as the boat is in good condition and floats." "The last charge is in place," said Curley in a monotonous low voice. "Syffy Two is moving away." "Any news from the Sea Slug?" "It reported that it was impossible to make visual contact with the crew of the Depths." "Okay, let it quickly withdraw to the surface of the sea." Fan Te said, "We will detonate the first row of explosives in nine minutes." "They're going to die," Drummer yelled suddenly, his voice changing. "It's too late, they're going to die." Pete took two steps forward and grabbed Drummer's shoulders. "Stop being hysterical. The last thing we need is premature deflation." Drummer slumped his shoulders, his face was pale, his expression was terrified, and he was as dumb as a stone.Then he nodded silently and staggered back to the computer console. "The water in the sub must have risen to within two feet of the roof of the cabin by now," Giordino said.His voice was about a half-tone higher than usual. "If pessimism could be sold by the pound, you guys could be millionaires," said Pete dryly. "Sef One has reached the safe zone at six thousand feet," was the sonarman's report. "One is finished, and there are two left." Sandek murmured. There was nothing else to do now but wait for the other subs to surface and get above the danger zone of the impending shock wave.Eight minutes passed, and it was an endless eight minutes, making the foreheads of more than two dozen people sweat. "Sypho 2 and Sea Slug are now approaching the safe zone." "How's the sea and the weather?" Pete asked. "The waves are four feet high, the sky is clear, the wind is from the northeast, and the speed is five knots." Weatherman Farquhar replied, "The weather conditions are the best." No one spoke for a long time.Then Pete said, "Okay, gentlemen, the time is up." His voice was smooth and smooth, without a hint of worry in his tone or manner: "Okay, Spencer, detonate the seconds." Spencer began to announce with clockwork regularity: "Thirty seconds... fifteen seconds... five seconds...signal... let go." Then, without hesitation, the next detonation order: "Eight seconds... ...four seconds...the signal goes...play." Crowds gathered around the TV monitors and sonarmen, the only means of communication they now had with the ocean floor. The first explosion shook the deck of the Caprican only once, and the sound reached their ears like distant thunder.The sadness on his face seemed to be broken only by a sword.Every eye was staring straight ahead at the monitor, at the quivering lines distorted from the explosion.They were tense, tired, and numb. They were afraid that everything would go wrong, but they also hoped that the work would go well. They stood there motionless with expectations in their eyes, and only heard Spencer counting down the seconds in a low voice. When shock waves hit the sea one after another, the vibration on the deck became more and more obvious.All the monitors suddenly flickered like a kaleidoscope, and finally became a black mass. "Damn it!" Sandek muttered, "We've lost the image connection." "The blast must have knocked the main relay plug loose," Gunn guessed. Their attention was quickly drawn to the sonar display, but few could see it; the sonar man leaned so close to the glass screen that his head covered the display. Spencer straightened at last.He sighed deeply to himself, took out a handkerchief from his back pocket, and wiped his face and neck. "That's all it shows," he said hoarsely. "No more." "It hasn't moved yet," sonar operator Wen said. "The huge Titanic hasn't moved yet." "Move, friend!" Giordino begged. "Put your big ass up!" "Oh, God. Dear God," Drummer murmured, "the suction still holds it to the bottom of the ocean." "Come on, damn it," Sandek said together, "Come on...come on." If man could use his will to get 46,328 tons of steel out of its grave where it has rested for seventy-six years, and return it to broad daylight, then the people gathered around the sonar monitors would certainly do so .This day, however, there was no such psychologically driven phenomenon.The Titanic stood still, glued tightly to the seafloor. "Bad luck, bad luck," Farquhar said. Drummer cupped his face in his hands, turned and stumbled out of the room. "Woodson on Seifer Two asked to descend for inspection," Curley said. Pete shrugged, "Agreed." Admiral Sandek sat wearily and slowly into his chair. "Can it fail?" he said. The ominous atmosphere of utter defeat hung over everything, and the room was filled with bitter despair. "What now?" Giordino asked.He stared blankly at the deck. 'We're here to do what we're supposed to do. Pete replied wearily, "Continue to salvage activities."Tomorrow we start all over again..." "The boat is moving!" No one responded immediately. "The boat is moving," the sonar operator said again, stepping back.His voice trembled a little. "Are you sure?" Sandek asked in a low voice. "I guarantee my life." Spencer was too stunned to speak Song.He could only show a miserable expression of suspicion, staring at the monitor intently.Then his lips began to move. "Aftershocks!" he said. "It's the aftershocks that caused the delayed response." "Come up," shouted the sonarman, beating his fist on the arm of the chair. "This beautiful wreck like a sieve has escaped. It's coming up."